When it Breaks
by binx-349
Summary: When you realise things are a bad idea, it's often too far gone. [GS]


When it Breaks –

Rating: PG-13/R  
Pairing: G/S  
A/N: This is a semi-sequel to Game of Control but could probably stand on its own.  
No beta, so mistakes be all mine.

I guess I truly thought we could keep it hidden from them. We were wrong. I'm sure they know; they must do. Maybe they don't know everything; they couldn't, but they know something's different. They know something happened. I'm not sure if he has realised the level of speculation yet. He hasn't mentioned it, but I didn't really expect him to. I haven't spoken to him- except about a case- since that day. It hasn't seemed necessary. He appears to be able to put these things at the back of his mind. Somewhere he doesn't even notice I'm there most of the time. I wish I could do that. Put him away somewhere in my head where I'm unaffected by his presence, where my skin won't tingle under his gaze. It's a skill I quite simply don't have. My days are constant ups and downs just because of him. He has the potential to make or break my day with a word, a look, a touch, anything.

Nick tried to ask me about it earlier. I brushed it off. He hasn't questioned me since. I don't think he ever really expected me to give him an answer in the first place. He knows me too well. Catherine has probably got it all built up in her head into some fantastic love affair. I wish. It doesn't work like that, still doesn't. There never seems to be a chance for a fairy tale ending, at least not in my case. Things haven't gone my way in a long, long time.

It's only just been one week and already things aren't looking good. I can't hide things from him this long. I've been avoiding him, he's been avoiding me. Not that, that isn't perfectly normal; it is. But this is different, the tension isn't unresolved, it's live, and there isn't any way to ease it. It's always been like a pulse, something that was always there, but is only truly noticeable now it has been exercised, given a free rein; even if only for such a short time.

Before now the other choice was an unknown, we knew nothing except to run away. Avoidance was the easy way out. It just doesn't work like that anymore. There is something more. We know what could be. I'm not letting go that easily. He should know that by now. I'm determined like that, stubborn.

I can't help but hear that harsh nagging little voice in the back of my head; 'You're fucking your boss Sara'. It prods me relentlessly into the spiral of thoughts I try my hardest to avoid. Why do I do this to myself, why can't I give up? It's a stupid idea, and one that has about as much chance of working out, as I have of being hit by lightning. The more I consider this whole scenario, the more I begin to doubt the sense in my choices. I also know that there is no way I would ever take back my decision, not for anything. I walked away last time, too easily, pretended it meant nothing. That it was all I needed, nothing more. That would be a lie, one it is all too easy to see through.

Our work is physical, it's just how it is; when you're pulling apart cars, climbing through overgrown flowerbeds, searching for bodies in walls. I have always been used to being able to get close to him. I used to relish in it, like a game. See how near I could get. I'm more aware now, more than ever. Maybe it's due to first-hand knowledge; maybe I'm just imagining it. I get the sense that he notices. He isn't as unaffected as I once believed. He hides everything so well, but I know how to look through it now. I see beyond the façade sometimes. Fleeting glimpses of him, the real him, the one we see so little of now.

Walking back down the corridor towards the break room I can see him in his office as I pass. I should go and give him my report. He is leaning on his desk holding his glasses loosely between his fingers; he looks relaxed. I can see Sofia perching on the edge of his desk, making herself right at home as always. Maybe I should wait until later. He can come and get it from me himself if necessary. She laughs and gestures vaguely in the direction of his shelves.

I barely know the woman and yet can't bring myself to like her. Call me territorial, but I don't like her getting so close – to any of them. It's unnatural. I see her reach out brushing his hand. It's like something in me snaps. She's touching him, and he doesn't even flinch; yet if I ever did the same he would move so fast in the opposite direction I would be left in the dust. He goes out to dinner with her, he laughs with her. It gets to me. I hate myself for how much it hurts me. I would feel the same way if someone had punched me in the stomach. I know this is what I signed up for in some twisted way. It was never going to be a relationship in any true sense of the word. It was an arrangement. However clinical that may sound. It was never going to be something that fulfilled me in the way I hoped. But it was comfort. It was him. I thought that was all I wanted, that it was all I could hope for.

I walk straight in. I've done enough loitering on the fringes to last me a lifetime. I know the way I react is aggressive. She provokes me like that. Why didn't she leave when she said she would? I don't directly acknowledge her at all.

I slap the report down on the desk. I'm sure I must sound sharp as I tell him the facts. He just looks at me over the top of his glasses, which he has put back on the bridge of his nose to read the paper in front of him. He just looks at me. His emotional wall is firmly in place. This is work after all. Emotions never show at work; they don't even show after work if he can possibly help it. Maybe it's the daggers I'm shooting at her, but Sofia doesn't stay long. She makes a flimsy excuse and wanders off, taking the odd look back over her shoulder as she leaves, watching the standoff. I have no leg to stand on. I know it. He knows it. His eyes follow me as I pace the floor. I just can't keep still. Normally I need something solid to lean on; today I need to be able to move.

I have a temper. I know it. Things get to me. I need to work off my excess stress. He's not helping. He's still watching me, his eyes following my repeated path across the room.

There was a long pause from him. I only thought later that he probably knew exactly what I was thinking. I still felt raw. Confrontation gets to me, however satisfying it might be at first.

When he tells me to go home I can't help but gawp. It's not the end of shift. I need to be distracted, not sent home to stew over it, although maybe that's what he wants, to teach me a lesson. It's like he's disciplining a naughty schoolchild; silly Sara who can't keep a lid on her emotions at the appropriate moments.

Whoever 'they' were, they were right; an affair with your boss is never a good plan. It leaves you open to anything, to the doubt of everything you've worked for. No easy way out.

I always wonder who researches these things, finds the statistics and produces books on it. People aren't exactly going to be forthcoming if they are having an elicit affair in a questionnaire… are they? I wonder what the exact failure rate is according to them. I'll have to do a little research later; bedtime reading. It would be better than an entomology textbook under the circumstances; more useful. You never knew. It might give me practical advantages. I need them. I always feel like I'm one step behind with him, missing something vital.

I decide that to respond to his order, to protest, would be asking for trouble. I turn; walk away. It seems the safer option. I don't like leaving it like that, but then again, when do I?

I can see him in my minds eye, watching me leave. I've seen it before, elbows on his desk, the end of his glasses resting on his lip, brooding over the evidence in front of him. The human element is what makes it a total loss for him, it just doesn't seem to compute in his head, or in his heart apparently. It makes me wonder what conclusion he comes to in the end. It never normally manifests, never comes to anything more than that, a thought with no follow through; no worthwhile end result.

It's so cold when I get outside, it's dark still and I'm glad of it. There's a biting chill in the air. I slide into my car and immediately relax. I quite like the dark in a strange way. I'm used to it by now. There is a certain amount of anonymity in the gloom. It makes me feel that no one can see me. It's one of those reasons I wear sunglasses; so that other people can't examine my feelings, it means he can't get too close. It should keep a distance between us. I wish it worked like that, like I always hope.

I stop at the red light and my gaze rests on the steering wheel. I run my thumb back and forth over the cool leather for several moments before someone honks their horn. I was slow off the mark when it turned green. Something has to jerk me back into reality. I let my hopes get the better of me. I know I did. I thought I saw a future where it doesn't seem like there could possibly be one; in the depths of my imagination perhaps, anywhere else probably not. In there I see a full admission, in front of me, not a stranger. I see a real future, together. I see someone that quite simply isn't him.

When I get home it is empty. Just like it always is. I think perhaps I should get a cat, but I'm not home enough. It wouldn't work, a fish maybe. Even then it wouldn't be what I wanted. I know exactly what it is I want, who. Maybe I'm picky. I should try to find someone who can commit, someone I can allow myself to fall for, I want to, really I do. I spend hours just sitting, with a cold mug of coffee on my sofa and attempt to reason out what I want. It shouldn't be a long process. I already know. I have done for years. I don't need this.

When he arrives at my door I don't know what to think. He doesn't do that. He doesn't reach out. He goes home, seals himself away; avoids me. In fact he avoids everyone. I'm not alone in that freeze out.

He doesn't even wait for an invite, barely lets me get the door closed. His hands are on me as if they had never left. I drop my mug onto the sideboard behind me. It's obvious to me that coffee is not what he came here for. He never bothers to explain.

I can't understand him. I always thought I could; that men weren't really that complicated. He is, and I can never follow his logic when it comes to personal choices. He switches so fast I'm left lost. I should stop him. I don't, I can't. It would be like trying to stop a bus with my hand. It would be entirely ineffectual, a useless gesture. I could never push him away. He means too much to me, his acceptance means too much. When you love someone, you keep them close, no matter what. It's human nature; it's my nature, if nothing more. I cling to him as if he were life itself. I'm not strong enough right now to do anything else. My head is in utter turmoil, buffeted back and forth by every fleeting thought.

Only he can turn me into this kind of mush, my legs feel weak, like I've just been running. I think I should feel used, but strangely I don't. He still looks at me, he seems a little less certain, of well, everything. The way he looks is almost confused. It's strange when the person responsible for your euphoria doesn't seem to realise what he can do. It's a little endearing. All I know is I don't want it to end, I need him.

It is at this moment I start to speculate about what it might be with him and vertical surfaces. It may be useful for leverage, but I start to wonder if there might be something more. His innate ability to back me into a wall is showing through. I'm not letting it get like this again. He's not keeping the upper hand for so long. Give some; take some. I push back against him wrapping my arms around his neck. If I grip hard enough perhaps he won't be able to walk away. I force him to walk back towards the middle of the room.

I ache with the desire for the strengthening of the bond, which I know that he feels. It's one I've always sensed. It simply never seemed to be able to break through into my reality. It's getting there, it really is. His hands on my stomach are cold. I can't keep still. I swallow tightly, unable to stop myself.

He speaks but his words are muffled. So quiet I have to strain to hear him at all. None of it seems to make sense, all I know is it matters. He pulls back again, something is stopping him. His breath drops to my cheek, like warm liquid, soothing the tension like nothing else. His eyes flick over my face, as if to make sure of what he has. He catalogues everything somehow, not moving save the flicker of dark eyelashes.

His hand hovers, still indecisive. His gaze lingers on my neck, I can't help but wonder what he's looking at. It seems as if he doesn't see anything of substance, looks right through me. It feels wrong to me, out of place amongst everything else. It makes me feel oddly alone. It's almost like he's thinking of something else, someone else. It takes a moment for the light to return to his eyes, they reflect a million things, emotion and inspiration. The coarse pad of his thumb skims my collarbone and across down my shoulder. I would think about the reasons why I shouldn't do this again, but they seem to melt away, like snow in a single moment of heat.

As his fingertips flutter over my skin, the sensation makes me shiver. I have to close my eyes. The reverence in his actions almost makes me forget. The sensitivity with which his lips touch my eyelids makes the corners of my lips twitch, an almost smile.

I settle on him, and I know, it feels right. It did before, it still does. I'm not sure if perhaps I expected that to change. I want to see the control slip, like it did before. I keep my eyes focussed on his. They are as clear as I have ever seen them; none of his normal indecision is there to cloud them this time. It's like he has chosen, he finally knows exactly what it is that he wants. There is something there, there must be. Too keep him coming back to me. He could have stayed away. I really expected him to. I wonder if the magnetism is as strong for him as it is for me. If keeping away is what hurts him the most.

The light in his eyes encourages me. He always draws me. I can feel his grip tighten on my hips, enticing me closer. I watch the tremors of his throat and count the beats with rapt fascination. I can't help but run my fingertips over the spot to feel the thrums.

I tighten my hands on his shoulders. I'm reluctant to shift. Maybe this is why I never move on. I keep him too close. I stayed here when I know I should have left. It always feels like he knows what I'm thinking. He is able to insinuate himself so deeply into my mind, makes himself right at home. I make it sound so parasitic, like it's a bad thing. It isn't. It used to scare me on so many levels. I know it sounds odd, but I'm almost used to his insight by now. It sends a frisson down my nerve endings every time.

His breath grazes across the side of my cheek; the words roll from his lips, as if they were meant to all along. As naturally as when he told me he needed me, he has me, he knows it. Now I know. I have him.

He can't take it away again. We both know it. I almost wish I could dispel it as 'heat of the moment', but I know that wouldn't be true. It was real. It's there in the very shock visible on his face. He quite obviously didn't intend to verbalise it, but that doesn't mean to say he didn't mean it.


End file.
